


There’s A Beast In My Heart (He’ll Only Bow To You)

by RayShippouUchiha



Series: Your Shield And Sword, Your Claws And Venom Darling [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Creature!Stiles, Dark Thoughts, Hurt!Stiles, Kanima like Stiles, M/M, Major Character Injury, Master!Derek, Possessive!Stiles, Pre-Slash, Protective!Stiles, Season 3B AU, Spark!Stiles, no one actually dies, transformations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles.”  Derek fucking <i>whimpers<i> and if Stiles wasn’t already dying he’d kill himself for making Derek sound so hurt.  <i>Stiles just wants to protect him so much sometimes because no one else ever seems to realize that Derek is so goddamn fragile and Stiles hates them all a little bit for not being able to see that.<i></i></i></i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>Or</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>In an effort to expel the Nogitsune Stiles is given the bite but it all goes horribly wrong.</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s A Beast In My Heart (He’ll Only Bow To You)

**Author's Note:**

> Got the idea from a Tumblr gifset and couldn't help but run with it. Unbetaed and written in about an hour so please excuse any errors as I will do my best to catch them later. I hope you'll comment and let me know what you think, what you'd like to see in the future in this series or whatever strikes your fancy.

Stiles has been screaming inside the darkness of his own mind for weeks, _months, years, ever since he was eight years old and had to sit in that hospital room and hold his mom’s hand as he watched her heart fight and fight and finally give up.  A war waged on a tiny little screen for all to see and hear.  Battles fought in beeps and blips.  He hadn’t wanted to watch but he hadn’t been able to look away either.  Someone had to be there to see it, to see the end of her, and he was all that was there._

The nogitsune is _strong_ , ancient and powerful and so goddamn determined that it takes everything Stiles has, takes everything he is, to hold it back once he knows it’s there.

But he’s too late, the damage is already done, he’s one step behind and two seconds too slow to stop the carnage.  _It’s the story of his life.  Stiles always feels like he’s too slow except for in the moments when he’s too fast.  He feels like he’s never quite the right speed for the life he’s been born into._

It eats at him, the knowledge of what he’s done, of what he’s _let_ happen.  Because even if he isn’t always conscious and aware of what’s going on it’s still his body, still his hands and his voice and his fucking _face_ that’s giving the orders, taking the lives, hurting people.

It’s still his darkness, still the weakness around _his_ heart that let all of it happen in the first place.

And Stiles feels _so goddamn responsible_ for it all.  _He should’ve ate a bullet when he realized what he was doing, being made to do, and then maybe none of this would have happened but he hadn’t and he’s sorry._

So when they discover the only possible way to fix things _not fix, never really fix, because he’s already hurt so many people and he can’t change that but maybe he can stop it from getting worse_ Stiles jumps on the solution despite everyone’s protests.

They can expel the nogitsune if they change the host and getting the bite is one hell of a change.

He hadn’t wanted the bite when Peter offered it to him, hadn’t wanted that kind of tie to the sick and twisted alpha, but if it’ll stop everything that’s happening he’ll take it now in a heartbeat.  _Stiles does his best to ignore the voice that whispers that he doesn’t want Scott’s bite either, that the only teeth he wants in him belong to a blue eyed beta who should’ve still had red in his eyes._

They’re all together when the time comes, Scott and Kira, Lydia and Isaac and Allison. Even the murder twins who Stiles would actually rather see fuck right the hell off and out of Beacon Hills and oh could they please take Peter with them too?

Derek’s there too and Stiles hates the fact that he’s seeing everything that’s happening.  _Because Derek’s seen enough in his life, seen enough people he should have been able to trust become twisted and malformed things and Stiles wants to rip the nogitsune apart with his bare hands for making him yet another person on that list._

At first everything goes right, the _oni_ appear and there’s cliché trash talk and fighting _there’s always fighting these days and Stiles loves and hates it for the way it makes him feel alive but keeps making the people he loves bleed_.  They’re trying to time it all right, trying to get it perfect so they can use Derek’s mystical box to trap a fucking _firefly_.  Stiles doesn’t know when his life became the kind of life where that shit actually makes sense but he doesn’t dwell on it either.

Scott’s behind him, teeth at his neck, Isaac’s down the hall and Lydia’s at Scott’s back.  Stiles can hear Derek and Allison and Kira fighting outside and it all looks like it might turn out alright.

Then everything goes so _wrong,_ so fast because _of course it does_.

Allison takes a sword to the gut, makes a little hurt, punched out sound of surprise.  Scott’s teeth instinctively snap down and then rip their way through the side of Stiles’ neck _like he’s bitten through a peach instead of his best friend_.

Allison goes down hard, the _oni_ disappear, and Lydia and Scott are at her side in an instant, hands pressed over the wound as Lydia frantically scrambles for her phone.  Isaac’s there a second later, magic box in hand and firefly apparently sealed.

Stiles sees it all happen in slow motion, hears the way his own breath burbles as he feels the blood _gush_ out of his neck.  He barely feels it when his body collapses, goes down like a puppet with its strings cut, and he hits his knees but he does hear the little choked off whimper he makes.  _It’s loud in his ears, like a gunshot in a closed room._

He’s too shocked to bring his hands up, to put pressure on the wound like he knows he should in the back of his mind.  He’s too numb to do anything but listen to his own thoughts loop themselves around and around in his head.  _Scott has torn out his throat and he doesn’t even realize it and Stiles knew the bite could kill him but he never thought it would go down like this._

The pain roars through him suddenly and Stiles is abruptly and completely aware of the fact that he’s bleeding to death in the hallway of his high school _and he always knew the Beacon Hills’ academic program would kill him_.

All he can think is that his dad’s going to be so _alone_ and it’s all Stiles’ fault.  He’s such a fuck up that he can’t even _die_ right, can’t even have the decency to wait until his old man’s in the ground first so he won’t have to be alone.

There are hands on him then, large, warm hands that clamp down on the wound on his neck and suddenly Stiles doesn’t hurt as much, can actually make his eyes focus.

He knows those hands, knows who they belong to without even looking _he’s spent hours staring at them, watching them, imagining what they would feel like, taste like,_ and he’s so viciously happy and pissed all at the same time that Derek’s going to be the one to hold him as he dies.

_Because Derek shouldn’t have to do this again but God if he’s gonna die then Stiles wants the chance to see his face one last time._

“Stiles.”  Derek fucking _whimpers_ and if Stiles wasn’t already dying he’d kill himself for making Derek sound so hurt.  _Stiles just wants to protect him so much sometimes because no one else ever seems to realize that Derek is so goddamn fragile and Stiles hates them all a little bit for not being able to see that._

“D-Derek.”  Stiles hates the way his voice sounds so weak, the way it breaks on the blood he can taste in his mouth.

“Hold on Stiles.  The bite’ll take.  It’ll take Stiles.  Just hold on.  It’ll take, it’ll take.  You’re strong and it’ll _fucking take_.”  Derek sounds desperate, frazzled and heartbroken like Stiles’ never heard before and he wants to _fucking cry_ but he can’t.  “It has to take Stiles.  _It has to_.”

“ _Derek_ …..p-please.”  Stiles tries to talk past the blood, can feel it welling up out of the corners of his mouth.

“What?  Stiles what?  What do you need?  I’ll do anything just hold on okay?”  Derek clutches him tighter to his chest, big broad hand still clamped down on his throat trying to stop the blood that Stiles can feel soaking his shirt.

“Dad…you…and…dad…live…live….safe….promise…both of you…”  Stiles manages to choke the words out, has to tell him, has to make Derek promise him that he’ll stay alive and strong and that he’ll look after his dad too when he can.  He has to because he knows that Derek keeps his promises like no one else Stiles has ever met and Stiles _loves_ that about him.  _Oh God Stiles loves him and he’s just realized it and he’s dying and he can’t say anything, can’t do that to Derek, won’t do that to him.  He’ll take it to his fucking grave before he puts that kind of weight on Derek’s already bowed shoulders._

And Stiles finally understands what his mom meant, what she’d tried to tell him in those last few days on the rare occasions her mind was her own and she’d refused to show a sad face to his dad.  _Sometimes loving someone means taking things you know will hurt them and burying them deep inside of yourself so they’ll hurt you instead._

But Stiles is dying anyways so he’d take every bit of Derek’s pain, would take everything that would ever hurt him, with him to the grave if he could because he’s not afraid to hurt anymore and Derek would be worth it anyways.

“Don’t.  Stiles don’t do this.  Don’t say goodbye.”  Derek’s eyes blaze blue and Stiles wants to smile because he’s so _beautiful_.  “It’s going to take Stiles.  It’s going to take and you’re going to be a wolf, a crazy, spastic, perfect fucking wolf like I always knew you would be because _you’re not fucking allowed to die._ ”

“S-sorry…”  Stiles tries to smile but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t come out right because Derek’s face _crumples_ and he looks so _lost_ and Stiles _hates_ that.

The desire to live surges through Stiles then with the force of a lightning bolt, rails through him like nothing he’s ever felt before.  He wants to live so _bad_ , wants to keep breathing, wants to stop bleeding, wants to take that look off Derek’s face, wants to see his dad again, wants so _so_ much.  He wants to be _useful_ , knows he can be, knows there’s so much he could still do, could still give, if only he wasn’t _bleeding to death from his throat_.

He wants it more than he’s wanted anything before.

And for just a moment Stiles _believes_ he can have it, _believes_ it can all be true.

Stiles is a Spark and belief is his power and he _believes_ that he’s going to _live_ , that he’s going to survive and be _useful_ and somehow it’s enough.

Stiles feels it the moment the bite takes.  He feels the change build up in his chest, feels the way the power rushes through his body like fire, the way it starts to break him down inside and put him back together different.

“ _Yes_.”  Derek hisses the word out and it sounds like victory.  “I fucking told you so.”  Stiles knows with a sudden blinding clarity that the gaping hole in his neck is closing on its own, flesh knitting up like something’s stitching him back together. 

And then, for the second time that night, Stiles feels it the moment everything goes _wrong_.

The rush of power mutates, shifts, goes from a hot, burning rush of fire in his veins to something dark and sinister and Stiles is abruptly, deeply _afraid_.

_Sometimes the bite is different Stiles remembers distantly.  Sometimes you change to take the shape that suits you best and Stiles doesn’t want to know what his is._

“It’s wrong.”  Stiles grits the words out, knows the truth of them deep down in his marrow.  “Derek it’s _wrong_.”

“No, no it’s perfect.  You’re gonna live Stiles, you’re healing.”  Derek sounds like he’s on the verge of tears but all Stiles can do is shake his head because he knows that Derek’s _wrong_.

He opens his mouth to tell him, to tell them all that something’s not right, that he can feel it, but the pain hits him then, pain that eclipses everything else he’s ever felt and all that erupts from his mouth is a tortured shriek.

“What’s happening, it’s not supposed to be like this.  Mine wasn’t.  _What’s wrong with him?_ ”  Stiles hears Isaac’s voice from a distance, hears it below the way he’s still shrieking, screaming as the pain wracks through him, and realizes that the others must know what’s happened now.

Stiles tries desperately to form words, to warn them, to _do something_ because he can feel the change, can feel the way his insides have shifted.  _He’s coming together wrong._

“ _Kill me!”_   The words are ripped out of his throat and his voice is a screech that could put Lydia to shame.  He knows they won’t listen but he has to say it anyways, has to try and warn them somehow.  “ _Kill me!_ ”

There’s movement and a great and terrible roar that Stiles recognizes as Derek’s.  Stiles manages to rip himself away from the man, manages to throw himself to the side and huddle in on himself because he can feel his body beginning to shift.  _He doesn’t want to hurt Derek, doesn’t want to take a chance with Derek’s safety versus whatever it is Stiles knows he’s becoming._

“Stiles!”  Scott’s voice is there and Derek’s and in the distance Stiles hears someone that sounds like Lydia gasp out “scales” and then the world just _mutes_.

Stiles feels like he’s a cocoon and something inside of him is on the verge of bursting free.  _He is a chrysalis and there is a sharp winged butterfly tearing its way out of his skin._ He has enough time to be terrified and then another sharp burst of pain roars through him and he feels it emerge.

He feels something dark and _terrible_ , something sinister like the nogitsune but not as dirty, not as _evil_ and chaotic, slide into place behind his eyes.  Feels the way it fights for dominance with the things that make him who he is, the thing that makes him _Stiles_.  The two pieces of him war with each other for a moment and then suddenly his mind _clicks_ and they come together in a rush, blend into something new.

Stiles knows that he’s complete then, changed and different but whole in a way he’s never been.

Then the world rushes back in around him.

He’s unsettled for a moment, unable to focus on anything but the sudden driving need in his mind and his heart, the knowledge that he has to _search_ , has to _seek_ and _find_ and _claim_ in order to be made _right_ , to be _useful_.

He puzzles over that knowledge for a moment and then he realizes for the first time that he is not alone.

It is instinct that makes him uncurl his body and slide into a crouch, one clawed hand settled on the ground in front of him and the other splayed out at his side for balance.  He lashes his tail behind him in warning to those he can sense close by, the violent, predatory energies he can feel twisting in the air around him.

He cocks his head to the side, blinks his secondary eye lids quickly to clear his vision, and takes in the creatures around him.  Wonders absently if any of them will suit his purpose, will be _worthy_ , or if he will have to kill them and seek what he needs elsewhere.

There is a human, aura weaker than the others but interesting.  The way it pulses catches his attention for a moment and he can feel her fire, her need for righteousness, before he blinks the feeling away because _interesting_ isn’t good enough.

There are wolves too, he can tell from the way the moon twines in their auras, the way She wraps silver vines around their souls.  Three of them are weaker, lesser creatures that pose no threat to him.  His armored hide and venom would put them down in seconds.  He could crush them beneath his claws if they moved wrong but he has no interest in them outside of how easy it would be to break their spines.

There’s another wolf, and he can’t help but hiss, a low, vicious sound of warning, when he sees his aura.  It’s young, barely older than one of the three weaker ones, but it’s different, stronger and wilder and it _hurts_ to look at it, to see the way it bleeds red into the world around him, an overpowered and uncontrolled mess.

He can hear voices, knows that the creatures around him are speaking but he pays them no mind.  They are not enough to draw him away from his search, away from his appraisal of the options presented to him.

He turns to yet another aura and rears back slightly when he sees it.  _Death caller_ he thinks when he looks at the girl with the burning hair.  _Wailing woman, end screamer_.  She isn’t right either.

There is only one presence left, one last option, and if it is not right then he will have blood on his claws, in his teeth, on his scales.  Will have to eliminate any obstacles that stand between him and the search for what must be _his._

He turns towards the last aura, another wolf he can tell, but when he takes this one in he freezes, feels himself go completely and utterly still.

He is _magnificent_.  The wolf’s aura is bright, a vibrant halo of silver and gold with a tinge of red around the edges and a burst of shocking blue in the center.  There is pain there, and loss enough to make him want to snarl.  It sits beside a deep seated need to protect and cherish.  A desperate longing to be protected and cherished in return.  There is fury too, enough to make him want to purr in delight.

B _eautiful_ , he thinks and he wants nothing more than to protect that beauty.

 _Perfect_ , a part of him sighs and he wants nothing more than to bask in that perfection

 _Mine_ his instincts hiss and he wants nothing more than to pledge himself to that aura, to the wolf that is more than a wolf and whose aura resonates so perfectly with his own _._

He moves forward on instinct again, towards the wolf that he will have as his own, to the aura that he knows will give him a purpose, will be what he longs for and must have.

The wolf with the burning red aura tries to stop him but a casual flick of his tail sends the creature flying.  A quick pass of his claws stops the other three from moving too, drops them to the ground in an awkward heap of limps.  The human does not move and the death caller stays where she is as well, hands pressed against the wound that he knows is not fatal on the human’s side.

His wolf, the one who will be his, doesn’t move, just stares at him with wide stricken eyes that make some part of him deep down _twist_ in pain.  He will erase that look, will protect and defend with claws and venom until it is gone, obliterated from existence.

He stops at the wolf’s feet and raises his hand, claw tipped fingers spread wide, and offers the receptors on his palm freely and openly, _willingly_.

For a moment nothing moves and he worries briefly that he will be rejected, shunned and ignored, judged as _unworthy._   The thought makes him keen, makes him chitter and hiss in distress and spread his fingers wider.

Finally the wolf moves, takes a long, shuddering breath and raises his own hand.  The wolf settles warm, strong flesh against the receptors on his palm and he croons in victory and twines their fingers together.

The bargain is struck.

The contract is sealed.

The wolf is his and he is the wolf’s.

“Stiles.”  His wolf speaks and he pays attention because he will not neglect what belongs to him, will not neglect the one he belongs to.  He cocks his head again, blinks his secondary lids and makes an inquisitive chitter in the back of his throat to show he is paying attention.

“ _Stiles._ ”  His wolf’s voice breaks then, and his aura is awash with a terrible sadness and a hint of something darker, sharper, that makes him want to croon in delighted anticipation.  He resists the urge and instead tightens his grip on his wolf’s hand and swings his head around to look for the danger, for whatever it is that’s put that note in his wolf’s voice.

For he is vengeance and protection given solid form.  He was created as a balance between the two, fated to shift to fit the needs of the one who holds his reigns and his wolf needs him to be both shield and sword.

When he sees nothing he shifts himself closer to his wolf, slides himself against his legs and noses at the crest of his hip, wraps his tail around his wolf’s waist and twines it around his legs.  He squeezes gently, a show of protection and gentle care, a reassurance that he will not allow his wolf to come to harm.  They are bound together now after all.

Their pact will hold steady until death and, given the strength of his wolf’s aura, perhaps even beyond that.

But he has no intention to ever test that theory because his wolf is _worthy_ and _glorious._ He could not ask for a better master and he will allow none to hurt what is _his_.

All who try will fall before him.

**Author's Note:**

> rayshippouuchiha on Tumblr, stop by and talk to me.


End file.
